


My, My, How Can I Resist You?

by japansace



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Beach Holidays, Canon Universe, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Travel, Victuuri Summer Loving 2019, watch two idiots in love get super lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/pseuds/japansace
Summary: So he only grapples for Victor’s hand across the table, a bit sleep-drunk in his movements, and says, “I can’t wait to get hopelessly lost with you.”And Victor grins, bringing the back of Yuuri’s hand to his mouth. “Me too.”





	My, My, How Can I Resist You?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cottonee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottonee/gifts).

> My summer loving exchange piece! My partner gave me the following options:
> 
> Prompt 1: domestic viktuuri… just them being happy and in love
> 
> Prompt 2: viktor an yuuri traveling together: to get to competitions, to  
enjoy the off-season, to celebrate their honeymoon, anything’s fine
> 
> Prompt 3: a date gone wrong. things don't go as planned, but they still  
enjoy each other's company
> 
> So I decided to combine all three~ I hope you like it!
> 
> P.S. The title comes from ABBA's "Mamma Mia," because this takes place in Greece, and I'm horribly predictable.

It starts, as it always does, at an airport.

It starts with Victor squinting up at the departures board, trying to parse together in his jetlagged mind just how many hours they have of layover between them having gotten off the flight in Germany and getting onto their next flight to Greece.

And it starts with Yuuri tipping his head into Victor’s shoulder—scruffy and bedraggled with travel—to whisper into his ear, “Three hours, dear.”

“I know.” Victor does not. He doesn’t even know what time it is _currently_, despite it being displayed in bold red numbers at the top of the board. Yuuri can just _feel _it, just as he can feel that the coffee Victor had in America has well worked his way through his system and that he’ll be wanting some more right about—

“There.” Victor is laser-focused on a neon sign that proudly proclaims “café,” because apparently that word is universal. “We should go there.”

“Okay, dear.” And Yuuri for his part lets himself be tucked under Victor’s arm, their suitcases dragged along haphazardly behind them.

It had been a spontaneous journey, which is more unusual than you’d think for them. It was the tail end of the Grand Prix series, and late into the night (or rather early into the morning, depending on your perspective), the two had gotten a little too jazzed up on cheap hotel vodka and _convinced _themselves they’d needed a vacation. Didn’t matter where, as long as it close to a beach. And after some fumbling google searches, they’d found what they deemed to be the perfect place: Mykonos, a tiny island off the coast of Greece. It didn’t even have _street addresses_, for Christ’s sake.

So obviously, it was perfect. 

(The press may or may not have pissed them off one too many times, right before they left.)

But turns out, it actually _was _perfect. Because very few people went vacationing on hard-to-get-to islands in the Mediterranean in late autumn, the prices were good and the weather was fair. It was ideal, really, if they could only just _get there_.

“We could have flown directly to Mykonos, you know.”

Victor looks up from his drink, a wisp of whipped cream clinging to the top of his lip. “Yes, but then that would have been _three _planes. Plus the view from the ferry is supposed to be spectacular.”

“Mm,” Yuuri acknowledges. He’s of two minds on the issue, knowing full well this is the far more complicated way but also knowing, with stark clarity, that whatever Victor wants, Yuuri is happy to give.

So he only grapples for Victor’s hand across the table, a bit sleep-drunk in his movements, and says, “I can’t wait to get hopelessly lost with you.”  
  
And Victor grins, bringing the back of Yuuri’s hand to his mouth. “Me too.”

* * *

Freshly deplaned, Victor takes in the Athens metro map with some level of trepidation. None of the names are in English (or Russian or French, for that matter). There’s a “Victoria,” which of course prompts Victor to take a thumb to the “ia,” if only to make his husband giggle, but inspires nothing else.

Yet somehow, before he can even give thought to what their next move might be, Yuuri has got one of Victor’s hands in his own, prompting with a little, “This way, Vitya,” towards the station platform.

Victor’s mouth parts with just a bit of awe. “Wow, someone’s confident.”

Yuuri turns to him, still walking, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Victor, I’m _Japanese_. I’ve seen railway maps _way worse _than this.”

Victor huffs a laugh at that, shoulders immediately releasing their tension. “Ah, I should have known.”

The trains vary greatly in quality—some clearly from decades ago, others more modern—and by chance, they snag something in the middle that at least allows them to stretch out, at once throwing a leg across each other as they settle into a pair seat, stowing bags overhead.

Yuuri plays with Victor’s fingers, from where Victor’s arm is thrown over his lap. “Do you think we’ll see the Acropolis on the way?”

Fatigued as he is, Victor still feels the whisper of a smile spread across his lips. “Would you like to see more of it than just a passing glance?”

“Mm…” Yuuri considers, clutching Victor’s wrist to his chest as though it’s crucial for decision-making. “Maybe on the way back…? I just _really _want to go to the beach with you right now.”

Victor tips his head forward until it’s flush with Yuuri’s forehead. “Nothing on earth sounds better.”

The Acropolis comes and goes—the great white mausoleum on the hill—and Victor only gets a wink of sleep before Yuuri is nudging him awake, grabbing bags to disembark at the pier.

Only there’s one problem.

“There are… many piers.”  
  
And so there are.

There are rows upon rows of sea-worthy ships: great barges and clippers and xebecs weighted down with precious cargo. All to most of them are painted a spirited blue to accompany the white of their hulls, all in the name of patriotism.

“So what’s a commuter boat called again?”

Yuuri looks at him as though the word is at the ready upon his tongue, then shrinks when he realizes it’s not exactly where he left it.

“Perry…?”  
  
“Sherry?”

“Mary?”  
  
“That’s a name. Larry?”

“Also a name.”

It takes a minute to cycle through the English alphabet, but when they arrive at the familiar word—“It’s ferry!” “Yes, ferry!”—the clue is enough to start their search in earnest, prowling the docks for any sea vessel that might sport the word.

They find one soon enough—this one shuttling between Athens and Santorini—and are directed with hand gestures a little way farther down the pier, until they can recognize “Mykonos” among the list of places they have upon their signboard. And quite fortuitously, the boat in question begins to dock while they’re still purchasing their tickets.

The great maw of the ship opens, letting people off when the sheer space of it could accommodate a car or even another boat. They follow the crowd inside—Yuuri straining himself a bit to see how far the ceiling goes—then up some stairs, finding the second level to be outfitted much like an airplane, seating arranged in a similar fashion, though with more allotted leg room.

Yuuri doesn’t need any further persuasion, dropping into a chair the moment he finds a suitable pair of them, and is asleep by the time Victor settles in beside him, lending one shoulder to Yuuri for him to rest upon the whole way to Mykonos.

* * *

They’re not even fully off the gangplank before Yuuri grasps Victor’s arm, pulling him down towards the porcelain white sands to thrust an arm, elbow-deep, into the aquamarine surf.

He closes his eyes, savoring the smooth roll of waves over his arm, and breathes out a long sigh from between sea-salted lips. “It’s warm.”

“Mm.” Victor feels it for himself, a similar calm washing over him. “It is.”

It’s nothing like where the Sea of Japan meets the East China Sea—clogged as it is with wildlife, flush with colorful fishes and the thickest of seaweeds—and even less like the Gulf of Finland, which is hard and rocky and foamy and above all things _cold as ice_. Still, being next to water again—touching it, feeling it, breathing it in—settles something deep inside them like little else in the world can.

As though to further prove it, a pair of Audouin’s gulls give a cry overhead, the sound both all at once nostalgic and new.

Yuuri stands, brushing sand off the palm of his hand onto his pant leg before he offers it to Victor. “Walk with me?" 

And how could Victor ever say no to a request like that?

They wander the beach for a while, then make their way into town, a vibrant marketplace awaiting them. The pier boasts the brightest produce either of them have ever seen, and further away from the water, the streets are lined with clothes just as bright: deep blues and electric greens, pastel pinks and reds that jump out at you. An alleyway even hosts a wall of artwork, all containing the same lust for color, lurid maritime scenes playing out across every canvas.

Victor tries to buy Yuuri a bouquet, but when Yuuri points out, sensible to a fault, that he already has more than enough to carry, he settles for one flower and tucks it behind Yuuri’s ear, a pop of lavender crowning him like a Greek Adonis.

It’s enough to satisfy Victor, in any case.

When they’ve finally had their fill of taking in the town, they flag down a taxi, in hopes of it at least being able to direct them to their hotel.

But either the cabby has never heard of the place they describe or they’re merely mispronouncing it in such a way that it is entirely undecipherable.

In either case, they’re left there with no ride and certainly no instructions.

So they search out yet another taxi.

“Hmm.” This one looks at Victor’s phone, from where he’s pulled up the GPS coordinates of the hotel. “That’s way outside of town, on the southern end of the island. The roads are rough there, so you’d be better off walking.”

“Walking?”

“Yeah.” The cabby points down the beach. “Just follow the water. You’ll be there in no time.”

Victor and Yuuri exchange a shrug.

The sun is setting now, which makes for a worthy enough distraction, but also serves to remind them that they’ve been more-or-less awake for over thirty-six hours, and it’s starting to become noticeable in how their skin is oily and how the straps of their sandals are starting to chafe. The luggage feels heavier with every minute that passes them by, and before long, they stray down the beach to take a breather along the water.

Yuuri flops down, rather dramatically, and looks up from the sand at where Victor has sat himself, leaning back on his hands as he surveys the ocean.

And he suddenly all at once can’t help but laugh.

Victor whips his attention away from the waves. “What’s so funny, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov?”

“You.” And Yuuri laughs again, boyish. “It’s just me and you, and we’re lost, stranded on this deserted island together. It’s like one of my fantasies from middle school come to life.”  
  
Victor laughs too. “Oh dear.” He leans down, tasting Yuuri’s mouth with his own. “Whatever will we do to pass the time?”

Yuuri takes his face in both hands, drawing thumbs across the cheekbones. “I can think of a few ideas.”

“Um, excuse me?”

Yuuri does a whole-body flinch, Victor chuckling from where Yuuri has grasped him, trapped him against his neck. “Not so deserted now, is it?” he teases in Yuuri’s ear, the skin there steadily growing redder.

The owner of the voice makes his way down the beach, accompanied by a woman who’s most certainly his spouse. She’s twirling the end of her sundress around one finger, as though thoroughly abashed.

“Sorry to bother you,” the man says, halting before them, “but my wife is a big fan of yours. She wanted to say hi.”

She most certainly _does not _look like she wants to say hi, bringing her hands up to her face to look at them from between splayed fingers. “H-hi.”

They return the greeting, the awkwardness slowly melting away from the woman as conversation goes on. They’ve just taken a hard right turn into scores from the previous Olympics when the man clears his throat and says, unprompted, “Um, could it be that you guys are lost?”

Victor and Yuuri share several blinks between them.

“Maybe a little?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Ah, that’s what I thought.” The man scratches at the back of his neck. “No one usually goes down this far unless they want to be alone.”

Before the information can properly register—and what that means for the couple, having themselves come this way—the woman rushes to offer, “We have a car! We can drive you where you need to go!”

As much as they understand and can sympathize with the man’s current predicament, they readily accept this. 

The couple are clearly locals, having a car that’s obviously designed for off-roading and with no roof to speak of. Conversation comes easily now to the wife, who has a captive audience as she regales them about her days as a schoolgirl, commuting to the mainland to take ice dancing classes in the 80’s. She’s about to dive headlong into a speech about the ISU’s treatment of dancing in contrast to skating when her husband cuts her off to announce they’ve made it to the hotel.

Yuuri and Victor be sure thank them, heartily.

In comparison, check-in is a breeze, and they only do a cursory look around where they’ll be staying before they search out their room.

“Well, my love?” Victor asks, closing the door behind them. “What do you want to do?”

Yuuri smiles a half-smile, taking Victor’s hands in his own. “I want to sleep with you.”  
  
Victor lets himself be towed along. “Read my mind, darling.”  
  
And they fall into bed, asleep almost before their heads hit the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> So anyway, I’m gonna be in Mykonos very shortly, and I kinda projected my travel anxiety onto Victor and Yuuri.
> 
> The reasoning in my head was something to the effect of: “Well, if I _imagine_ every worse possible scenario and how to get out of them, I’ll be more prepared, right?”__
> 
> Also doubled as research on how to get there, so there's that.
> 
> Wish me luck on all my future hours of travel time. OTL


End file.
